


Procedures Must be Followed, Mr. Bond.  ~~or~~ Flowers, Sinking

by Dart



Series: MI6 Cafe December Anon Prompt Gift Exchange [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Fae & Fairies, Language of Flowers, M/M, MI6 Cafe Anon Prompt Gift Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21800503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dart/pseuds/Dart
Summary: James Bond needed to lie low and lick his wounds.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~“Oh. It’s you again”
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: MI6 Cafe December Anon Prompt Gift Exchange [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571083
Comments: 19
Kudos: 124
Collections: Mi6 Cafe Prompt Fills





	Procedures Must be Followed, Mr. Bond.  ~~or~~ Flowers, Sinking

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn’t going to write for the MI6 Cafe Anon Prompt Gift Exchange this week, but found myself starting a story late Saturday afternoon which is, of course, the day it is due. And by story, I mean I got the vague idea of a hotel. And that was it. I just started writing, hoping I would find my way into it. 
> 
> Special thanks to Zephyrfox for the super quick beta read turn around when I was partway through.

James Bond came to a stop in front of the flower-lined doorway of a small hotel, the exterior walls of which were inexplicably painted butter yellow. There were monkshood and white daisies, and hanging baskets of begonias and fern. _Odd._

His previous mission had ended spectacularly. Mostly successful, but heavy on the explosions and raging fire. He’d been smuggled north and needed to lie low for a few days, lick his wounds, and let the dust settle before he even considered returning to MI6. Grateful for the lack of CCTV on this street, he ran his hand through his short blond hair to dislodge any ash, brushed off his shoulders and ducked in through the Savoy blue door.

It was rather dim inside the small lobby. The Eastern European sun made a valiant effort, but even the green library desk lamp couldn’t truly hold its own against the creeping drear.

The boy behind the desk startled at the intrusion, a tiny gasp and a little jump that gave the black waves of his hair an abrupt shake. Green eyes loathe to be torn away from the printed page, met his. _Ah, not so young after all._

The young man gave a brightening smile, “Welcome to the Hotel California,” then the smile withered to all business. “Do you have a reservation?”

James, placed his elbow on the high marble counter, put on his second most charming smile and said, “My plans changed. And this looks like an interesting place”—he looked the young man up and down—“to relax.”

“Oh, everyone thinks that at first,”—he looked James over—“but just so you know, if you come back three times to the Hotel California, you will never leave.”

“That sounds ominous.”

The young man gave him a toothy smile. “It’s meant to.”

After he finished checking in, James said, “The place doesn’t seem very busy.”

“It’s only you tonight I’m afraid.”

“Then why did you ask if I had a reservation?”

“Procedures must be followed, Mr. Bond.”

“Are there procedures preventing you from accepting a dinner invitation from me?”

“Indeed.”

“May I at least know your name?”

“You may call me Q.”

“Would you consider calling me James?”

“I’ll think about it.”

——————

The second time, James Bond was running from the henchmen of a not particularly bright, but extraordinarily vicious arms dealer. He ducked down a small side street, redolent of camellias and through a blue door that seemed…

“Oh. It’s you again,” came a familiar voice.

Bond hid in the shadows next to the door, weapon ready. He motioned for the young man, for Q to hide and be quiet.

”Whoever’s following you won’t find their way in.”

Bond waited, ready.

Finally, Q got up and came around the lobby desk. He was wearing a white poet shirt and black trousers.

”This is your second time at the Hotel California. If you come back three times, you will never leave.” He pushed the black frame glasses up on his nose.

James carefully looked out the front window. “Aren’t you going to ask what I’m doing here?”

”Clearly you’re running from someone. Thugs? I told you they won’t find their way in here. Now will you be staying the night? It still counts as your second visit, either way.”

——————

“How old are you?”

“Older than you think.” And he quirked a smile that looked to be solely for himself.

——————

“Will you have dinner with me this time?”

“Yes, okay.” Q smiled a soft smile.

How is it I’ve never seen another guest here?”

“Maybe it’s our slow season.”

“Don’t you get awfully bored?”

“You don’t know the half of it. But I read. A lot.”

“Won't you be leaving? To go to university?”

Q frowned. “ I have _degrees._ Besides, this is my home, my ancestral home.”

Bond shrugged. “I’ve got one of those, probably couldn’t burn it down if I tried. But I left. I got free of it.”

Q leaned forward. “How?” he whispered.

“I found a way out. I took a ship and never looked back.”

“A ship?”

“I joined the Royal Navy. My point being, there are many ways to hop a ride elsewhere.”

Q looked perplexed. “I will give this some thought.”

After dinner, James leaned in and asked, “May I have a kiss?”

“Most certainly not.”

James chuckled at Q’s indignation.

“Can you blame me for asking.”

“Probably.”

“Did you enjoy dinner?” James asked.

“Yes, of course I enjoyed dinner, I cooked.”

“Can I make you breakfast?”

Q had the sweetest look of confusion on his face, so much so that James didn’t mind the slight kick in the shin he received when he declined to explain what he meant.

——————

That night James dreamt of running through forests, of leaping across streams, of dappled sunlight on a bed of moss, and of laughter that felt like music. When he awoke, it was to the scent of violets

———————

The third time, James Bond was pinned down three blocks away from the little hotel. He requested a medical evac, but doubted it was coming. He eyed the tourniquet on his leg. It would buy him some time. He was running low on bullets. He needed to take out as many henchmen as possible. “It’s too bad I can’t actually blow up a car by shooting it in the gas tank. That’d be handy right about now.”

James felt a soft breeze and smelled heather and wondered if he was dying.

The shooting had stopped. But there had been no counter fire to indicate evac. How strange.

“ _James.”_

”Q?” James struggled to prop himself up on his elbows. When had he lain down? “‘s not safe. Go! Hide.”

Q dropped to his knees besides James. James saw green and flowy and then looked closely at Q’s face. “Are those,”—James blinked—“acorns in your hair? Ivy?”

Q cupped James chin, “May I kiss you James?”

“Pro…cedure?”

“Yes, well, you inspired me to think outside of my box. Would you like that kiss, James?”

“Yes,” James whispered. Kissing a beautiful man, one last walk on the moors. Of all the ways James thought he would go, he never imagined his brain could give him such peace.

Q kissed him. And James thought it lovely. Except, the tingling was a bit unusual, but then he’d never actually died before. And such warmth. Funny, he thought he’d be cold. Q stroked his hair. And then kissed his nose. And James laughed a breathy short laugh.

”I didn’t make it back a third time. I tried,” James said.

Q said, “No, I came to you. You always struck me as the type that needed a firm helping hand.”

James reached up and smoothed a curl away from Q’s eyes.

“Thank you for coming. So I wouldn’t be alone.”

Q’s eyes started to get teary, but he bit his lip and they cleared. “I took your words to heart, James. You came to me as much as the hotel. So if you wish it, to stay with me…”

“I haven’t much time left, Q. Moments. But yes, don’t leave me.”

“James Bond. Listen closely. I am trying to let this decision be entirely yours. I would rather just save you and be done with it. But you need to understand. If you come to me, if I save you, you will never leave me.”

“But we can leave the hotel?”

Q rolled his eyes. “ _Clearly._ Now quickly.”

James motioned for Q to come closer. And then James kissed him. “I was a goner from the first time I saw you. Work your magic. Q.”

Q pressed a vial to James’ lips and James drank. Q sealed his lips with a kiss. And James sank and sank into a bed of moss in dappled sunlight, into the scent of orange blossoms.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: If you come back three times, you will never leave.


End file.
